


Summertime Delirium

by nisachara



Category: Naruto
Genre: Implied Rough Sex, M/M, Sexual Exhaustion, because Hoozuki, frustrated Shisui, really big insertions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 20:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11089686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisachara/pseuds/nisachara
Summary: In a bid to strengthen relations between Konoha and Kirigakure, the two shinobi villages organize a series of joint missions. Shisui finds himself teamed up with one of Kirigakure’s finest and shenanigans ensue. He comes home with acute memories of that joint adventure. Shisui-centric.





	Summertime Delirium

Non-alcoholic beer. He liked the taste of beer, but he knew better than to allow himself to get drunk, or even slightly intoxicated. Alcohol was a no-no, especially when he was supposed to be on call literally 24/7. Shisui couldn’t afford to make a mistake and then have himself branded irresponsible if they caught the stench of alcohol on him. And he knew it wouldn’t really stop with him; they’d drag the entire clan down with him for even the slightest slip-up. Because you know—Uchiha this, Uchiha that. So this was good. Non-alcoholic beer was a great substitute for the real thing. And right now, feeling the cool liquid down his throat was beyond refreshing given the heat.

 

It was one of those really hot summers again—the kind that came and went every decade or so, got everyone talking about it. It was the kind of summer that nobody really wanted to spend inside a stuffy house. And it was certainly the kind of summer that had people rolling up their pants legs or wearing short sleeved shirts. Or better yet, lounging around in shorts or summer dresses.

 

So why the heck was Uchiha Shisui covered from top to toe?

 

When he brings that bottle of faux beer down to sit on the arm of that well-worn couch, Shisui finds himself asking the same question. It’s by chance that he hooks a finger into the neck of his long-sleeved high-neck shirt and tugs, trying to get enough of the fabric off of his neck so it didn’t feel so _stiflingly_ hot. And it’s just his luck that he tugs far enough to be able to glance down and spot the raised patches of skin around healing teeth marks.

 

Shisui lets go, the fabric snapping back in place. He’s already gripping that bottle harder than he previously was, condensation sliding down the inside of his palm.

 

It doesn’t help—feeling water run down his hand like that does nothing but make everything worse, and Shisui’s already on his feet, grabbing his shirt and pulling it off over his head. The shirt hits the floor with a dull thud, settling some three feet away by the foot of his bed.

 

He brings his hands up to run his fingers through his hair, pushing those damp curls back, head tipping back just slightly, neck bared. It stings when he does that—the teeth marks close to his neck and on his shoulder. And when a drop of sweat rolls down across a healing cut there, he shudders.

 

But he holds still, willing himself not to think any further of that mission he’d just come back from. He thinks about everything else—about Itachi, about Sasuke, about the clan, about politics. Anything and everything to get his mind away from the reason he was sporting those marks. And at first it seems to work—a good enough distraction to keep his thoughts at bay for an entire moment. It feels good, standing nearly bare like that with that warm summer breeze fanning him through the half opened window.

 

It feels good… Until he looks down and he mentally curses his pants for sitting so low on his hips: bruises layered upon bruises peeked over the waistband of those loose trackies.

 

There are a few bruises that he can clearly make out as hand prints—the shape of fingers he’s gotten to know so well in just two months.

 

And he can’t help himself when he brings his hands down to touch, just lightly trace the angry purple edges. He sucks in a breath, holding it all in, now daring to put his fingers right on top of the marks left behind on his hips. A gentle press and— _“F-fuck.”_ It’s a dull, throbbing pain that send jolts of electricity shooting all the way down to his groin… _All_ the way down the length of his cock that now seems all too eager to stir back to life. And before he realizes it, his Sharingan’s spinning and every single detail of the memories from the past few weeks flash before him in his mind’s eye. It’s inescapable. It’s like he’s triggered Tsukiyomi on himself…

 

Shisui barely registers that his knees buckle under his weight.

 

He’s already kneeling, grabbing the worn fabric of his couch as he lets his mind run. Lucid, vivid memories—enough to let him feel those hands on him again, fingers digging, grip unforgiving but so, _so_ good as they keep him in place. –Bent over with his cheek against polished wood, jaw slack and coming dry because it’s been five times already. Or six… or seven… he’s lost count.

 

And it _hurts_ because every fiber, every nerve ending is on fire. And it feels like the length inside him is growing an inch, no two—maybe three more. It’s impossibly deep and it wrenches a strange sound from Shisui. It’s when he feels a hand leave his hips and fingers comb through his hair, grabbing a fistful as they force his head up away from the table… Force it back some so he feels breath on his ear and that dangerously playful voice, drawling. “How about it, _Taichou?_ Think you can take more?”

 

And all he can do is let something so uncharacteristic as a mewl escape him when he feels himself nearly split in half when that girth seems to _swell_ inside him, arms shaking as he struggles to hold himself up, just barely aware of his cock stirring back to life despite everything—All this and then there’s the sound of that throaty chuckle that’s nothing short of _mocking._

 

Even then…

 

It’s got him yelling his throat raw when every thrust feels like a sledgehammer on his prostate. It’s got him seeing nothing but white despite the Sharingan.

 

And now he’s got his teeth sunk in one of the couch cushions when there’s the sound of a key turning in the front door. Shisui barely registers the faint clink, but he does, and just in time to pick himself up off the floor. Staggering now just like he did after everything, when he had to drag himself back to camp and brief the team anyway, trying to ignore the slick trickling down his thigh wetting the inside of his pants.

 

He makes it to the bathroom just in time—just when Itachi shows himself into his house like he’d promised earlier that day. Shisui vaguely recalls that he’s given Itachi a spare key.

 

Might as well take a cold shower…

 

But of course that turns out to be the worst idea ever, because the moment that water hits him it’s like he’s _there_ again. It’s icy cold but Shisui’s cock twitches in response.

 

It didn’t matter what temperature it was at, it was water. It was water just like _he_ was. Water on him, around him, trickling down the crack of his ass and being a fucking tease. And embarrassingly so, Shisui pushes back into nothing, snarling, frustrated.

 

And he’s trembling again, cock leaking onto the shower floor. He’s got his face pressed to the cold tile, panting already: a right mess. He’s half expecting the man to form out of the water behind him and put him out of his misery, give him what he wants, fuck his brains out, get him to paint the bathroom walls in his cum.

 

But no. It’s just the stupid showerhead above him and the sound of water raining down on him. It’s just water.

 

_Just_ water.

 

And he slams the cold tile with his fist, mad that his hard-on isn’t looking like it’s going down anytime soon.

 

Itachi hears him from somewhere in Shisui’s room and asks him what’s wrong, and all Shisui can manage is a hoarse “I’ll be right there.” And he listens to the sound of receding footsteps letting him know that Itachi was going to wait for him in the living room.

 

_Hōzuki Suigetsu_ , he thinks, when he doesn’t hear Itachi in the vicinity anymore. His jaw is clenched as he brings his hand around himself. _You’re the biggest jerk I’ve ever known._


End file.
